The Final Problem
by Brooke Richards
Summary: It's been two years since the fall and Sherlock has come back. Sherlock can't wait to see John but something's wrong. Hurt/Comfort possible Johnlock
1. The Final Fall

Sherlock glares out the window of Mycroft's private jet while Mycroft gives him crap for cutting ties with him while he was away. "And Sherlock-"

"Alright! Fine! Geez." Sherlock gets up and goes to walk to the washroom, leaving Mycroft glaring at him as he goes.

"You've changed a great deal Sherlock. Remember that emotions just get in the way. Ever since I found you after your going AWOL, you've been nothing but be emotional."

"probably has something to do with the fact that I was tortured don't you think?! Now drop the subject." Sherlock closes the restroom door behind him. Mycroft releases a sigh of irritation and pours himself a cup of tea and sits down again

"The plane will be landing soon so hurry up and sit down"

Sherlock grumbles as he leaves the rest room and sits back down in his chair, taking the tea that sat in the holder.

Sherlock and Mycroft continue discussing Sherlock's adventure while he is getting his haircut and beard shaved, which had become rather shaggy and unappealing; not to mention poor hygiene.

Sherlock interrupts Mycroft "Yes, yes. Fine, when do I get to see John?"

Mycroft goes silent and looks at the desk "what? What is it?" Sherlock brushes the barber away and sits up, wincing.

"Sherlock… after the fall, John was more than overtaken by grief. He started out just drinking lots and not showing up for work but ..." he sighs sadly. "You should've kept in contact with me, Sherlock. We would have been able to bring you back sooner"

"I don't understand. What has happened to John?! I want to see him!" Sherlock stands up and grabs his coat from Anthea, hurriedly putting it on

"Sherlock, the last thing John said was that he had found you and that he was going to meet you where he knew you would be"

Sherlock goes still, his coat mostly on. He glares at Mycroft slightly. "Stop talking in riddles and tell me where he is!"

Mycroft walks over to Sherlock, looking at his brother with sadness in his eyes despite his lack of emotions.

"Heaven, Sherlock. He jumped off of St. Bart's roof. He-"

"Shut up, Mycroft! Shut up!" Sherlock turns around and pushes past Anthea. He only makes it a few steps before collapsing to the floor, shaking and releasing small quiet sobs. Mycroft walks over to Sherlock and rest his hand on his brother's shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." He gestures for Mrs. Hudson to come over. He had called her once they had landed knowing that Sherlock would be upset about John's passing. She walks in quickly and cradles Sherlock in her arms, rocking him slowly. Sherlock continues crying softly, resting his head on her shoulder, comforted by her presence.

"I'll have a car pull 'round for you Mrs. Hudson. Please take him home and take care of him"

Mrs. Hudson nods and helps Sherlock up, following Anthea to the cab that had arrived shortly after Mycroft had called. Once they leave the house, Mycroft goes back to his office and closes the door. He watches Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock leave, a tear rolling down his cheek.


	2. One More Miracle

A few days past and Sherlock didn't speak a word, he only played the violin. Sometimes he would play John's favorites and sometimes he would play his own, sad tune. But he only ever stopped for a few hours, passed out in John's chair. Once he awoke again he would play, never uttering a sound except for the occasional quiet sob that would escape his chapped lips.

Finally Mrs. Hudson couldn't take it anymore, she made him his favorite foods and walked upstairs, listening to every pained note that trailed down the stairs of 221B. When she entered, she found him sitting in John's chair, his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks. she placed the tray of food on the table in the living room and knelt down beside him, resting her hand on his knee.

"Sherlock?" She whispers, brushing the tears from his cheeks, "Sherlock, Honey, you need to eat."

He stops playing and looks at her, his eyes red and glossy from crying. He parts his chapped lips and replies, "I want to go see John." After so many days of not using his mouth or uttering a sound, his voice was rather raspy and broke as he spoke those words. Each world falling from his lips with ease, except for "John" which caught in his throat but managed to force it out.

She nods, "Alright, but first you have to eat something. I've made your favorites." She pats his knee and slowly gets up with a slight grunt. "Come now dear. The sooner you finish the sooner we can go, ok?" She gently pulls the violin and bow from his fingers and puts it away.

"Ok," he whispers before getting up stiffly. Mrs. Hudson walks over to him and smiles softly, rubbing his back gently. Sherlock sat and looked at the food before slowly eating.

"Would you like some tea, Dear?" She asks as she heads into the kitchen. He nods slightly, "yes" "Alright, Dear."

Once the tea is made, she comes over with two cups and sits down beside him. "Here you go, Sherlock," She hands him his cup and looks out the window, sipping hers quietly. Sherlock continues to eat slowly, finishing a portion after a few minutes. He sits back and pushes it away. Mrs. Hudson looks at him and the plate of food that had a slight dent in it, "All done for now, Dear?" He nods slightly and sips his tea. "Alright, well you can finish the rest later. Once you're done your tea you can get ready and we'll go. I'll get us a cab and get ready as well," She gets up and takes the plate and her cup to the kitchen before heading downstairs to get ready and call a cab. Once she's left, Sherlock gets up and slowly walks to his room, getting ready.

"Sherlock, Dear, the cabs here for us. Are you ready?" Mrs. Hudson calls from the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock pulls on his coat and heads downstairs, wrapping up his scarf and pulling on his gloves. "Ready?" "Yes," he nods and opens the door for her before exiting the flat.


	3. The Truth and Nothing But The Truth

Letter From The Writer:

Sorry loves! I've been so terribly busy but I will have new chapters up hopefully soon! You are more than welcome to send in suggestions to my twitter LondonsKitty. Questions are also welcome and I will try my best to answer them ASAP!

Keep deducing,

Brooke Richards

* * *

They arrive at the cemetery, the noon sun shining down with a pleasant glow. Sherlock steps out of the cab before turning around to look at Mrs. Hudson. "I would like to go alone please," he says quietly. She nods, "I'll be right here." He closes the door and slowly makes his way up the hill to where John's grave was said to be. Mrs. Hudson had called Mycroft while Sherlock had gone to his room to get ready, explaining to him that Sherlock had wished to visit John's grave. Mycroft told her to go along with it and to take Sherlock to the cemetery. As Sherlock reached the tree that John's tombstone was said to be, he looked up and upon seeing his brother he scowled."What are you doing here Mycroft?"

Mycroft stepped aside so that Sherlock could see that the tombstone that sat there did not have John's name on it. "Hello, Sherlock. Lovely day isn't it?"

"As I said, what are you doing here? And where is John's grave? Mrs. Hudson said it was here."

Mycroft stepped back a bit for his brother had come quite close to him. "John doesn't have a grave. Before when I said that John had in fact died, I lied. He -" Mycroft was interrupted by Sherlock who had grabbed him by the collar and had his face rather close to his. "Now listen here, brother mine. Where. Is. John?" He snarled, before pushing Mycroft away.

Mycroft straightened his suit before answering, "he's in St. Bart's. He's in a coma... has been for over a year and a half."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?!" Sherlock growled. "Why would you tell me he's dead when he isn't?! And don't try to say anything about what I did. I had no choice!"

Calmly Mycroft replied, "because the chances of John ever waking up, or at least waking up and remembering you, are slim to none"

"What do you mean 'slim to none'? Why wouldn't he remember me?" Sherlock ran his shaking fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself.

"Because, remember how I told you that he jumped off the hospital? Well he did but he survived the fall, however the damage to his brain put him in a coma and the doctors say it's unlikely he'll wake and that if he does, he won't remember the last few years. Meaning -"

"I know what it means!" Sherlock stormed off back to the cab, fighting the urge to cry. This was all his fault. Had he told John, no... if he made himself known to John, John could have been in danger. But this, this was far worse. If Mycroft was right, then when or if John woke, his John would be dead and a new John would be in his place.

Sherlock stands before the cab that waited for him with Mrs. Hudson in it. He takes a shaking breath before opening the door and gets in, slamming it, earning him a glare from the cabbie and a gasp from a startled Mrs. Hudson who moved closer to her door. The cab pulls away and heads back to 221B. After a while Mrs. Hudson turns to Sherlock and asks, "Is everything alright, dear?" Sherlock turns to her, growling softly but tries his best to remain calm. "No, everything's not alright. Why did you tell me he was dead when he's not," he glares at her slightly before looking out the window again, not overly interested in her reply. She stays quiet, not quite sure how to reply before saying quietly, "Mycroft asked me…" Sherlock turns to her, looking at her gently, "I know, Mrs. Hudson." He smiles slightly. "You're surprisingly good at hiding things from me..."


	4. A Visit From An Old Friend

**PLEASE NOTE!**

For those of you who are followers of _The Final Problem, _I'm suffering from a bad case of writer's block and so the next few chapters may take awhile before they are posted. Or written for that matter. Thank you for understanding. If you have any questions or concerns (or even suggestions! :D ) you can contact me either here or via Twitter :)

xBrooke Richards

* * *

A few days pass and Sherlock becomes a little less detached from life and reality. It's noon and Mrs. Hudson had successfully gotten Sherlock to eat a normal amount of food. "I think I'll see him today," he says, as he wipes a few crumbs from his lips. Mrs. Hudson looks up from her tea, "John?" "Yes, visiting hours are from one to four today." Sherlock stands and takes his and Mrs. Hudson's plates before walking to the kitchen to set them in the sink. Mrs. Hudson turns to look at him "you should let me give you a haircut before you go, dear. Your curls completely cover your ears now." He smiles slightly as he walks back to her, "only if you're quick about it, I want to arrive at one o'clock sharp."

Sherlock ruffles his hair after its been cut and thanks Mrs. Hudson before heading back upstairs to his and John's flat. Checking his watch, he grabs his coat and scarf before putting them on as he makes it down the stairs. "Going now, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asks as she folds up an apron. "Yes, I'll be back later," he replies and heads out the door before catching a cab.

Sherlock makes his way up to John's room after having to listen to a nurse go on about how she was sorry for his loss. "He's not /dead/," the detective thinks as he heads up the stairs. "He'll be awake soon."

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock steps into John's room. The slight smirk on his face quickly disappears when he sees the doctor laying there with cords and machines all around him. A nurse was by his bed, working with one of the machines when Sherlock came. "Hello," she says, turning to him, "I'll be gone in just a minute." Sherlock nods and sits down beside his friend, cautiously taking his hand. The nurse goes to the foot of the bed and picks up his file. "Are you a friend of John Watson's?" She asks. "Yes," he says softly. "Alright well I'll let you two be now. I'm the nurse who will be taking care of him so if you need anything, just ask for Mary Morstan at the nurses desk." Sherlock nods and the nurse leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

After a few minutes, Sherlock looks over at John's peaceful face. "I'm so sorry, John," he says softly. "I tried so desperately to come back... I told you it was a magic trick, John. It was just a magic trick." Sherlock carries his face into John's hand, fighting down his emotions; trying to pretend that he wasn't hurting.

It wasn't until an hour or so later that Sherlock lifted his head after dozing off. Clearing his throat, he stands and goes to leave. "Goodbye John," he says and exits the room before heading home. He quietly makes his way out of the hospital and hails a cab, heading home.

Sherlock makes his way up the stairs to the flat, too deep in thought to notice that the door was already open. He enters and sitting in his chair is Detective Inspector Lestrade. "Hello Sherlock," he says, snapping the detective back to reality. "Lestrade," he replies flatly as usual, "why are you here?"

"I'm checking in on you."

"Mycroft put you up to it?" Sherlock hangs up his coat before turning back to the Inspector.

Lestrade makes a face and stands, fixing his jacket, "No he didn't, Sherlock. I know you like to think that he constantly has me doing things for him but that is not the case. I /am/ here because I wanted to check in and see if you were ok."

"Right… Well I'm fine," Sherlock plops into John's chair staring blankly up at him.

He looks down at the detective carefully, "Right… Well I guess I'll be off then."

Sherlock nods and Lestrade leaves him to his thoughts. After a time, Sherlock goes and picks up his violin and begins to play a soft melody that last till late into the night


	5. Goodbye, John

_October 31st_

The detective makes his way down the hallway of the hospital, a constant sound of metal clanking together with each step. He steps into John's room quietly and removes his hat, causing the large fluffy feather that was on it to wave around slightly. Clearing his throat, Sherlock walks over to John's bed, his voice a little more than a loud whisper. "Happy Halloween, John," he forces a slight smile and glances down at his outfit, a pirate costume, "Molly insisted that I dress up this year. She's having a Halloween party this evening… I'd rather not go, but you already know that." Sherlock sighs softly and sits down, "the holidays were so much more bearable with you around, John."

_November 11th_

Sherlock sits beside John quietly looking down at his hands. The tv in the room's turned on and bagpipes play quietly from the speakers as the Remembrance Day ceremony is shown on the screen. He stands for the moment of silence and leaves his poppy on the night table by John's bed before leaving. Remembrance Day meant more to him once John entered his life but this time… This time he understood how the families of the lost felt.

_December 25th_

The scrawny figure of the broken detective enters the always-too-quiet room, a small box wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow in his hand. "Merry Christmas, John," He says softly. Sherlock walks over to his chair and sits down, "I brought you something. I wasn't sure what to get you but I hope you like it regardless." He smiles slightly before placing it under the poppy on the night stand. "You can open it later, when you feel better."

_December 26th_

Sherlock woke as the late morning sun brought light into the near bare and boring hospital room. He stretches, a small whimper escaping his lips as his stiff joints protest. Standing, the detective looks over at John before leaving as quietly as he always does; as if he were never there.

_January slowly became February and February into March. March became April into then May..._

_June_

Sherlock stopped coming by to visit in May, finding it hard to see his best friend laying in that bed. The flowers that Mrs. Hudson would send with Sherlock on his visits sit on the window sill or on the small table. Their all dead now and the nurses haven't noticed yet so there they are, bent over and dried out. Most of the petals and some of the leaves too, decorate the surfaces that the vases sit on and by the ones on the table sit five small boxes and a poppy.

_July_

Someone finally noticed the dead flowers. They've been removed, along with the water but the vases stay.

_August 7th_

It's John's birthday today. Sherlock hasn't forgotten but he wont be visiting him again today.

_September_

New flowers. Yellow roses and baby's breath, brought in by the nurse named Mary. She's the only one who visits him these days. She even wished him a happy birthday in August.

_October_

Another box has been added to the stack. The tag reads "Happy Birthday. -SH".

_November_

The flowers have been long tossed and the vases have been put in the cupboard part of the night table. In their place sit poinsettias along with care instructions. Mrs. Hudson must have brought them in.

_December 10th_

"Knock knock," Mrs. Hudson gently knocks on the slightly ajar door before opening it enough to enter. Mrs. Hudson sits down in the chair and looks over at John's still body, "Sorry I haven't been able to come visit you, I've been so busy lately. Opened up a little shop a block away from home." She stays quiet for several minutes, looking about the room before getting up. "Would love to stay longer but business is booming these days!" She gently kisses John's forehead before looking down at his still face, "I don't know if you can hear me but John please, please wake up. Please, for Sherlock. Even if not for anyone else, get better for Sherlock."

_January_

Three more gifts add to the pile of faded paper wrapped gifts that still haven't been opened and still the poppy lays atop it all.

_February_

Mrs. Hudson's the only one who's visited this. Three days, thirteen minutes each.


	6. The Name's Sherlock Holmes

August 30th

"Hello?"

_"Hello, is this Mr. Holmes?"_

"It is."

_"Hi, this is Mary Morstan, the nurse who's been seeing over John's care. Mycroft had asked me that if there was any change in John's condition that I was to call."_

A small glimmer of hope grew in Sherlock's chest but he quickly stamped it out, "And what change would that be?"

"_He's woken up."_

Sherlock stayed quiet for several moments. "John… John's awake! He may be awake but remember what Mycroft said, he won't remember you. Amnesia. But there's still a chance. People recover from amnesia all the time," he argues silently with himself before replying to the nurse, "Alright, thank you," and with that he hung up the phone.

The thin man awoke in the afternoon the next day feeling tired after finding it difficult to fall asleep. All he could think about was John; John awake, John coming home, John. John. John. He gets dressed and steps out of his room, having every intention of going to visit John but stops after seeing Mrs. Hudson sitting quietly at the small table in the living room of his flat; enjoying a cup of tea. "Good afternoon, dear," she says, smiling after she heard him close his door, "Come sit and have lunch with me." Sherlock frowns, completely and utterly confused by her behaviour. Mrs. Hudson never sat down to eat in his flat and certainly not ask him to join her. "I'm going out," he says and grabs his coat. Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and places her tea down, "To go visit John, I know, and you're not going until you've eaten something." He ignores her, pulling on his coat and opens the door, "you're my landlady, not my mother." Mrs. Hudson huffs irritably, mumbling something along the lines of "well perhaps if you stopped acting like you needed one, I wouldn't have to act like one."

John sat in bed, reading the paper when Sherlock enters the room. He looks up and frowns, "who are you," he asks, not recognizing the man that stood before him. "I..." he swallows, doing his very best to hide how much that question hurt. "I believe you once referred to me as the closest person you had and you are mine, so here I am." John nods, feeling terrible that he had no recollection of this man. He was about to ask Sherlock his name when Mary came in. "Hello Sherlock," she says as she walks over to John with his lunch, "Here you go John, BLT sandwich, like requested." John smiles up at her, "Thank you, Mary." She nods and quietly exits the room, leaving the two alone again. Sherlock stands awkwardly at the door, unsure exactly of what to do when John says, "come sit." He continues to stand there for a second more before finally sitting down in the chair beside the bed.


	7. What Were We Like?

The two sit quietly for several moments, Sherlock staring out the window and John, down at his food.

"So…," John glances over at Sherlock

"Yes," the detective sits up straight and looks at the doctor, "so…"

"Sherlock," John smiles slightly.

"John," Sherlock returns the smile, awkwardly.

"Yes," John responds and the two return to looking away from each other.

After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, the raven haired man looks over at his companion. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

Prodding the toast on his plate, John meets the icy blue gaze, "No. I'm sorry." "It's quite alright. After… what happened, it's nearly surprising that you're even awake. Though given the angle and velocit-" John interrupts, "what do you mean? What happened? The last thing I remember, I was sitting with my… doctor." "Therapist," Sherlock corrects, "I hardly think a ther-" Again the detective was interrupted but this time by Mrs. Hudson who had just walked in.

"Hello dear," she says, smiling brightly at the bedridden doctor. "Hello," he smiles back and glances over at Sherlock for any sign as to who this woman might be. Mrs. Hudson notices and introduces herself, "Mrs. Hudson, your landlady." She emphasizes the last part, looking over at Sherlock who had gone back to wall staring. Looking back at John, she hands him a tin, "I baked you some biscuits. And Sherlock," she hands the thin man a Tupperware container, "your breakfast. Make sure he eats. Ever since you've been here, he's gone back to his old eating habits." John looks over at Sherlock, slightly confused before opening up the tin that Mrs. H had given him. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he smiles up at her. "You're quite welcome, dear," she says and turns to leave. "Goodbye John, Sherlock." John nods, "goodbye Mrs. Hudson."

Once she had left, Sherlock puts the container of food on the side table, beside the small tower of gifts.

"She seems nice."

"Mmmm...yes."

John smiles slightly and places the tin atop the Tupperware container and begins to eat one-half of his sandwich. "Care for the other," he asks, offering the other half of his sandwich to Sherlock who quickly declined and proceeded to stare out the window again. This wasn't going at all like he had planned. Though he had planned for John to remember him despite everything. Of course, the doctor wasn't going to remember a vast majority of his life given how he hit his head but still, why did he have to forget Sherlock completely? The detective glances over at the stack of things that he and various other people had brought John. The faded paper showing the time that had passed. Too much time. And now it seemed like he would never get the chance to make that up to John. His John.

The shorter man follows the others gaze after finishing his meal and picks up a faded poppy. "What were we like?"


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock looks over at him, slightly confused, "What?" "What were we like," he repeats, "You said you were the closest person I had which means we obviously spent a considerable amount of time together. Tell me about it." The detective nods slightly, "I see. From the beginning?" "Yes." "Well… I had been working in a lab at St. Bart's when our mutual… friend came in with you. You had been looking for a flatshare and I had discussed the same with him earlier that day…" Sherlock spent the rest of the day recalling the events of their life together as a crime solving duo and his years away from John after the fall.

Taking the poppy from John, he spins it slowly between his fingers, "...I had ignored the last one or two letters sent by Mycroft. It was only until recently that I realized the letters did not contain more silly little tasks but in fact a location to be picked up and brought home." The raven haired man bows his head, looking down at his feet before continuing quietly, "had I bothered to read them, you wouldn't be in this mess now."

John stares at the midnight curls of his visitor, trying to absorb everything that had been said. He frowns slightly, having trouble grasping the fact that according to Sherlock, he had fallen, or rather jumped, from the roof of St. Bart's hospital as a result of losing his friend. Watson didn't see himself being one for, what he would call, the dramatics; though he didn't remember much of his old self. He understood grief and anger but never such an irreversible act such as suicide, though with that being said, here was a man, claiming to have survived it all completely unscathed.

The sudden movement of the detective brings John back to the present and he looks up at the now towering figure of Sherlock Holmes. "I had best be going," the thin man says as he searches his pockets for his gloves. A quiet "oh..." escapes the bedridden man's mouth as he watches the other leave. Laying back, the sandy haired man stares up at the ceiling, thinking about everything Sherlock had said. The more he thought, the more upset and angered he became. "Had he had the decency to read those bloody letters, I wouldn't be stuck here. I'd know who I was, who everyone was. I'd be working, more than likely have a girlfriend, and have a bed actually worth sleeping in!" He thought and grumbled to himself before turning over away from the door and forces himself to sleep.


End file.
